


a tightness in the chest

by goldpaint



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Redemption, Billy didn't die, Hurt Billy Hargrove, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Past Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reconciliation, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-10 10:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20134276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldpaint/pseuds/goldpaint
Summary: billy survived. steve, despite himself, has a heart.





	a tightness in the chest

billy has scars.

steve knows because he both saw their wounds of origin, scarlet-black holes in billy's torso, and their aftermath, ugly pink worms straddled by black thread- visible just above the loose neckline of a hospital gown.

they make his throat tighten to think about.

billy was an asshole. he had never once shown steve a kindness, between snide insults in locker room respite to outright violence. he spat insults like they were bitter in his mouth, and steve felt shame burn in his own at the fact he had only responded with equal jabs. he could always protest that _he started it! _but the argument was so childishly immature that he would never speak it aloud. no matter which way it was spun, steve harrington felt _bad _for billy hargrove.

so, when he caught wind that billy had finally been discharged from the hospital a town or two over, (theirs couldn't even handle how fucked up his body was; they could barely keep him alive long enough to transport him to a hospital with the proper trauma center) steve got in his car, drove to the supermarket, and took the sickeningly familiar route to the hargrove residence.

he hoped maybe max would answer the door. that maybe she could talk him out of it. maybe just take the flowers and tell him to go home. hell, her mom or stepdad could do that.

just not billy. anyone but billy.

the sounds of the doorknob clattered faintly in the back of his brain, and steve's prayers were shot down immediately by their own antithesis.

"fuck do you want, harrington?"

billy's shirtless, but not in the way that makes steve's skin buzz; not like their locker room spats.

it's in a way that makes him feel sicker than the drive had made him feel. in a way that makes his stomach twist in pity, and his heart ache in some sadistic bastardization of sympathy.

billy is covered in bandages. he sees edges of scars peeking out over the white fabric, teasing the full attraction. they look like they _hurt._

he has to say something.

anything.

empty the bile-like flood of hurt drowning his organs.

"can I come in?"

he says it because billy will say no. 'fuck, no,' he'll snort, raising a slightly darker eyebrow and slamming the door in steve's face because it's fucking _billy, _he _hates steve, _he-

"yeah. sure."

blinking, steve steps over the threshold, his manners on autopilot. he was raised by a white middle-income family in small-town america, and that was a double-edged sword.

right now, he felt a little like falling on it.

awkwardly, he holds the bouquet of yellow flowers at his side. didn't know their names, didn’t really need to, just wanted to buy a decent looking little thing-of-flowers (he had forgotten the word 'bouquet' until arriving at the grocer) that he could offer up in the only gesture of sympathy he could think of.

"who're those for? don't say you're asking out my sister, now," billy remarks, waving at the flowers with a cigarette that steve hadn't noticed he was holding. his insults- if steve could even call them that- had lost their bite, ever since the (accident? attack? event.) they were empty, apathetic, tired.

billy seemed so tired.

"uh, no, not for max. they're-" _just say it and leave _"they're-" _set them on the counter and go _ "they're for you."

the silence that thickens the air between them is painful. it tastes like cigarettes.

"what?"

steve swallows. he sets the bouquet on the counter, hearing the cheap plastic cover rustle amongst the greenery below the bright gold heads.

"I heard you got discharged. wanted to-"

_what did he want to do? what was the point of any of this?_

"I wanted to apologise."

billy looks surprised.

surprised, and a dying part of steve's gut gleans satisfaction from it. the rest of him quickly kills it, but it was there.

"I was never, y'know, kind to you. you were kind of an ass, too-" _watch it_ "-but I barely gave you a chance."

billy still doesn’t say anything. he just brings the cigarette to his lips, and steve would swear on a bible that his hand is shaking.

"I don't think it's fair for you to be alone right now. call me a boy scout or whatever, but it's not right."

and, steve knows he's alone.

there's not a single sympathy card cluttering up the tables and surfaces in the room. he doesn’t see one tin of cookies, one other messy collection of flowers, no sign that anyone's been by to see billy- and he's been home a while.

"you can hate me. that's okay. god knows I deserve it."

he sees billy stiffen, remember all of the times steve showed him fire. they aren't few.

"-but I'm here. if you want anything; even if you just need to remember that you exist and none of us are ready to give up on you."

steve feels like he's monologuing, and that's because he is. billy hasn't said a thing since the asking-out-max quip.

"you're not beyond repair, dude. I know it."

with the same awkward tension that he came in with, steve headed towards the door, hoping that his throat would loosen up once he got into the car.

he's one foot over the threshold when billy speaks up.

"harrington?"

steve swivels on his heel.

billy's facing away from the door, toying with the edge of the plastic protector around the bouquet.

he has a scar running up the back of his neck, and steve's chest tightens at the fact he can't make it better.

"thanks for the flowers."

"i- yeah. see you, hargrove."

he sits into the drivers seat of his car maybe a bit too hard. his throat hurts, and he can feel just how hard his heart is trying to snap his ribs.

jesus christ, he thinks, starting up the engine.

jesus christ, he swears, almost hitting their neighbor's mailbox.

_billy hargrove_, he prays, taking off down the road.

_please don't give up now._

**Author's Note:**

> cool i didn't actually watch s3  
also let me know if you liked this !! i may write more !


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